◘ INFP | Virgo | 1995 | he/she/they non binary aroace transmasc | probably autistic ◘ Fanblog with inconstant obsessions | Right now: PHM* and PHM only (on a Ryan Gosling brainrot) |
"My friends think I like to fight, but it's just not true... I'm not a violent dog. I don't know why I bite"
- Isle of Dogs (2018)
See scale and Drive (2011) ramblings under cut
Pencil and thumb for scale. This was so unbelievably fiddly. The lighting on the face was bad enough but the jacket oh my lord why is it so shiny.
Drive (2011) truly took me out. A completely devastating take on the cycle of violence and exploitation. This shot has been haunting me for days. It’s the moment before the elevator doors close between Irene and Driver after he stomps the gangster to death. It’s the doors closing on Driver’s chance to escape the cycle of violence before it too late for him.
He reminds me of a street dog who just mauled a man to death for Irene and is asking her not to abandon him in the cold again. But he’s too feral to be a house dog anymore. Of course she has to leave but it breaks my heart that he ends up alone again.
Driver is basically alone at the start, surrounded by scorpions and he doesn’t seem to understand the scope of that. I’m sure this is an unpopular opinion but Shannon is absolutely exploiting him. I get the impression that Driver is just obsessed with cars and possibly doesn’t understand the value of money which has made him quite vulnerable to others. Driver reads as autistic with medium-ish support needs and without a proper support network I think he got pulled into the cycle (like so many are) without really knowing what he has signed up for. That’s not to say that he isn’t responsible for his actions but it’s an interesting portrayal of how isolation can make us vulnerable and dangerous at the same time. In the book it’s made explicit that Driver had a very violent childhood that shaped his aggression and black and white worldview. Long story short I have much love for writers that pair him off with a nice character from another franchise to be loved and accepted and allowed to heal.
I think it's absolutely crazy how people misunderstand the part of Only God Forgives where Julian yells at Mai.
I want you to think of it from his perspective: he tried to treat this woman gently. He bought her nice things. He attained her consent to pretend to be a couple. She then goes to dinner and learns that Julian's mother has been sexually abusing her son (him) since he was a child. Her reaction? Disgust. Scorn. She blames Julian for "letting" Crystal treat him that way.
Julian opened up to someone he perhaps hoped might understand him. Instead, Mai blames him for the abuse his mother inflicted on him. She makes it clear that she doesn't respect him, either, for "letting" himself be abused by his mother from childhood.
I cannot imagine how humiliated and hurt her must have felt. So he decides that he'll return the favour. He takes back the dress he bought for her. He reflects the scorn she projected onto him. He rejects her as she rejected him.
... And what do most people do? They call him a villain. They laugh at his humiliation. They ask the same question: why does Julian let his mother treat him that way? They don't acknowledge that they are blaming someone for their own victimization. They don't realise they are reinforcing his shame. They have swallowed the lie that men can't possibly be victims of sexual mistreatment and exploitation.
We tell men that they should come forward with their stories and experiences, but even in a movie where a sexual assault survivor is the protagonist we refuse to consider his perspective or that he isn't too blame for his mother's evil actions.
Is it really so shocking that men find it hard to speak up when they're treated like this????
He refuses to make eye contact with her after telling, and you can clearly hear his voice shaking. She takes the dress off but still looks pissy about everything.
How tf could you say “why do you let her speak to you like that?” after witnessing what he goes through. You fucking idiot. He needs SOMEONE to be on his side, but no. Why tf would he be allowed a damn thing?? So she says that shit and he snaps. He’s afraid of his mother and he’s afraid of letting someone in. And Mai ruined that chance to know Julian.
She was so fucking careless and rude to him. Even the hand around the throat was fucking gentle. He didn’t even squeeze. His voice was shaking. Like yeah, whatever, doesn’t excuse his violence but it’s in retaliation. That’s what victims do. They finally fucking defend themselves and are called the villains. Every fucking time.
She wears the dress later in the movie too. When Julian fights Chang. She’s wearing that dress. She kept it.
“Letting himself be abused”… fucking baffles me. Fuck them for thinking that. Julian probably thinks that too. That he’s too weak and pathetic because that’s what his mother tells him.
He holds onto the hope that someone will hear his silent pleas and FINALLY, finally, it is heard. Chang responds to his calls and kills her. Rids him of this demon. That Julian himself was going to slay because she ordered the death of a child.
Julian didn’t even care about himself… But a child being harmed is a reflection of his past. He can’t have that. It’s too fucking painful.
Jesus, I hate people misinterpreting characters I love so much. Sorry for the rant. This gets me going like no one’s business.
Not Alone (Trans!Holland March x transmale reader)
Pairing: Trans!Holland March x transmale reader (no physical description)
Summary: It's just another night of watching over Holly and Holland coming back drunk and with a bruised hand except this time you learn something new about him.
Warnings: nsfw, dry humping, fully transitioned holland march (i did my homework, first gender-affirming phallosplasty was in 1977 so it works), handjob, chest scars, bottom dysphoria (reader), insecure reader (slightly sex repulsed), guilt, spiralling, first time
Word Count: 6,389 words
Author's note: Trans Holland March hasn't left my mind ever since I came across it and also I'm fully coming to terms with my gender and mostly sexuality lately so now everything is awake in me and I had to write this, this is mostly catharsis sorry, probably ooc idk, no y/n
(pictures are from the Pexels website and The Nice Guys movie)
~~~~
Holly has been asleep for a few hours now and it’s been a while since you’ve looked at the clock, completely absorbed by your book.
Apparently though, March didn’t care for his asleep daughter when he closed the door with a slam making you jump at the sound.
You immediately relaxed when the smell of cigarette hit you and you knew it was him.
You’ve always thought there was something soothing about that smell. Probably reminders of your childhood.
You shrugged the thought off, finishing your sentence until Holly’s father sat down—not to say slouched down—on the couch in front of you.
You looked up for a second, but took another glance when you noticed his blooded knuckles.
“You hurt?”
When he looked at you with a questioning look in his tired eyes, you pointed at his right hand with your head.
“Guess so,” he shrugged, taking a drag on his cigarette.
“You should take care of that.”
“And you should go home.”
You didn’t respond at that, knowing it was a way for him to tell you to leave him alone, but unsure if he really wanted to or not. He was just so hard to read sometimes.
But you knew him still.
After meeting him for the first time, you didn’t think such a day would happen.
You even thought you’d never see him again after the first time you had looked after Holly.
“How old are you anyway?” He had asked while handing you a few dollars, counting them with a cigarette between two fingers.
“Thirty?”
“Bullshit.” He had replied, his cigarette almost falling from his mouth.
“Excuse me?”
“Why would you be babysitting if you’re thirty anyway? Also, you look like a sixteen-year-old.”
“First of all, ouch. Second of all, you’re a shitty detective if you think I’m sixteen. Third of all we all need extra money, right?” Of course you couldn’t tell him that you had had top surgery only three months prior and no other job could suit right now.
“Whatever.”
And it had ended with you taking the money and leaving just like that.
But then he had called again.
And now you knew him.
You knew he was about to go to bed just like that, drunk, fully dressed, and his hands—and God knows what else—still injured and making it worse by not taking care of it.
“Come on,” you said tilting your head towards his bedroom where the bathroom was.
He groaned, throwing his head on the back of the couch before taking the cigarette out of his mouth and sighing loudly again as he got up.
He sat on his bed with his forearms on his legs, hands crossed at the wrists between his legs, cigarette consuming itself.
You brought the first-aid kit and patched him up slowly and as gently as you could, his elbow on his knee, clearly out of strength to lift his arm higher as you stayed up.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” You asked when the bandage on his right hand was done.
He shrugged, looking down as if he needed to look at himself to know if he was indeed hurt, and then he shrugged again, taking a drag on his cigarette—which had almost consumed itself fully by now.
Oh, he definitely had a few drinks in his blood.
You took the cigarette out for him, the ashtray on the chest of drawers just behind you, before kneeling in front of him, trying to get him to look at you, his head slouched down.
He didn’t meet your gaze, looking half asleep already.
“Do you mind if I look?” you were hesitant with the question but him hurting his hand meant a fight and a fight meant there might be a few broken ribs. Maybe he bragged about the fact that he couldn’t die, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t get hurt.
He barely shook his head before resting his hands on both sides of him on the bed.
You tried to control the shaking of your hands as you reached the buttons of his shirt, removing them one by one.
It’s not like you’ve never done this before after all. You tried to repeat to yourself that the shaking came from the fact that you were just scared of seeing something bad.
That made sense.
Not the fact that you were undressing a man.
Thank God, he didn’t have a tank top underneath his shirt, you weren’t sure you would have had the strength to remove it.
You were so concentrated that you didn’t notice his nervousness or how his hands started to clench the sheets, how he maybe wanted to stop you before it’s too late.
Half of the buttons were removed and nothing was apparent on his collarbones. You let the shirt slide against his shoulders, checking his arms, unbruised. Your gaze got down to his upper chest, where there was nothing wrong and yet you stopped, seeing two symmetrical scars, just under the nipples.
You looked at him then, his eyes were closed, brows pinched.
“Wait,” you said getting up, almost too fast you felt dizzy for a second. “You’re...?”
You saw him clenched his jaw before he sighed, defeated and you didn’t wait to reassure him.
“Me too!” you exclaimed and he had barely opened his eyes before you took your own t-shirt off, your scars a little more visible than his, definitely more recent, almost a year old by now.
He straightened his back immediately, looking at the scars, back at you, his eyes widening and back at your scars again.
The grin on your face slowly started to fade though, your confidence slipping out of you quicker than you’d expected. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Had you been wrong? You could have been. Holland looked so… manly, you never questioned anything for a second.
And the probability of you two meeting?
Uncanny.
And why now when you had been all alone for thirty years, going to surgery alone, not telling a soul about it?
He suddenly got up and you took a step back on instinct, his frame definitely larger than yours, and God how you wished you could be like that. Not that he was ultra muscular or anything, just the perfect amount, the perfect body.
For a split second you wondered which of your desire or gender envy was talking.
Desire?
“May I?” You asked, nodding toward his chest and shaking the thoughts away, your hands hovering when he still didn’t say anything. Your hands were fidgeting at your sides, you needed to do something before you exploded.
“Sure,” he said, almost quiet, definitely nothing like the Holland March you knew.
“They’re so beautiful,” you almost whispered, as he unbuttoned the last three buttons himself, the tip of your fingers slowly caressing the scars. You could see the goosebumps on his stomach.
“Yours will look like that too someday.”
“You think so?” you asked hopefully as you looked back up, your hands fully on his ribs and your thumbs slowly stroking on the scars, almost not feeling them when you weren’t looking.
“I know so.”
A beat.
His words, the truth, slowly sinking in.
“Will you help me?” you asked.
“To do what?”
“I mean look at you, you look so... manly,” you cringed a bit at that, putting pressure on his ribs. “And look at me,” you scoffed.
“Oh yeah I’m looking.” He smirked and you suddenly felt overconscious of your bare chest. Have you ever done that in front of anyone?
“Cut the crap, March.”
“I think you look like a handsome man.” He said in all seriousness making you unable to speak as tears started to well-up in your eyes at the words you had wanted to hear since forever.
You looked down a bit, slightly ashamed, your hands turning into fists against his skin before asking “You mean it?”
“Hell yeah I do. And anyone telling you otherwise should get prescription glasses because they are obviously blind.”
You laughed slightly at that, removing your hands from his warm body to wipe the silent happy tears.
“Thanks,” you sniffled and then warm hands were wrapping your face and you didn’t look away or move when Holland’s face got closer to you and kissed you on the cheek, right next to your lips.
You held him there, wrapping your arms around his body again, this time with all the strength you had, your head resting on his collarbone, wrapped in the mix of cigarette and cheap cologne.
“What were the odds, uh?” he whispered. Because of course it was Holland March and he couldn’t stand the quiet. You had been quick to figure that out.
“May I?” he mirrored you from earlier, looking at your scars when you parted.
“Sure,” you said even though you were not entirely sure. No one had seen them, so touch them?
But it didn’t feel weird when his hands found your body. On the contrary, it felt almost natural when his long fingers grazed your ribs and his thumbs stroked the scars, even massaging them a bit. He bent his knees to look closer.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “You took good care of them, they’ll be beautiful. They already are.”
You almost wanted to cry again at that, a little weak on the knees even, unused to this kind of care concerning your transition. Concerning you. The real you.
And you surely hadn’t expected this kind of care and understanding to come from Holland March out of all people.
Both his hands then wrapped your cheeks, the bandage rapping as his thumbs were now caressing your cheekbones. You tilted your head forward a little, craving the touch suddenly, before he smiled and leaned in to kiss you.
You were about to kiss back, as naturally even though weird as this whole night was, before he pulled away way too soon, his arms up in surrender.
“Sorry, I— I don’t know why I did that, totally inappropriate. I never thought... Oh man,” he started pacing in front of you as you stood there a little dumbfounded. He took a cigarette and lit it up faster than you had seen anyone do it. He started talking again, but you couldn’t register his rambling. You were kissed by a boy—a man—and he knew, believed, didn’t even question once that you were one too. Was this even real? Had you fallen asleep on the couch at some point? Was this some weird dream your twisted brain came up with?
“I swear I wouldn’t take advantage of you like that, you’re Holly’s baby-sitter for God’s sake. I’m so stupid, and I’m so sorry I—”
“I’m a grown ass adult, Holland—”
“Yeah, no sure, that’s obvious,” he replied but sort of dismissed what you had said, waving his hand which was holding the cigarette, not stopping his rambling. “But I should have asked. Kissing you like this. I’ve been stupid. Hell I’ve seen stupid, but this? Oh man, I—”
“Just shut up and kiss me again.”
Which did shut him up.
He hesitated for a split second before he kissed you again, slower this time as you appreciated the taste and smell of cigarettes all around him, relaxing you instantly. You instantly kissed back, craving it like a hungry man. Yes it was the 70s, but even when so many people made it look easy to have one night stands—as a night/early morning motel receptionist, you had seen more than you would have liked—the fact was that you were trans and more than half the people wouldn’t notice or even ask about it and you were too tired to correct them. It’s not like you had to see them again anyway. And you knew you weren’t passing as much as you would have liked.
Kissing Holland March, who was also trans, felt like an early birthday wish come true. Your hands found the bare skin, just under his ribs, pulling him closer as you tiptoed.
You inhaled sharply when your hips met.
“Woah woah woah, wait a minute,” you stopped, slightly breathless and with now both hands on his chest. “You got the whole thing?” you asked, your voice going to that detestable high pitch as you’re unable to hide your blush.
“Well yeah,” he shrugged like it was no big deal, taking a drag of his cigarette before crushing it in the ashtray.
“Who even are you? The richest man on planet earth?”
“Meh,” he shrugged again, “just a nice heritage. And some good contacts.” You couldn’t help but laugh at this and he smiled at you. “You wouldn’t believe how many people want something changed about themselves. And how much they need to brag about it. Even though they don’t need to change anything. Not like we do, at least.”
You nodded, totally believing him. Anything was possible and everything was weird and fucked up these days.
“And, um… Is it, um…” you started, but surely he’ll figure it out, right?
“Is it... What?” You stayed quiet still looking down, ashamed of the question on the tip of your tongue. You knew he made this on purpose.
“Don’t make me say it.”
“Okay. Do you want to see it?”
“What?” You exclaimed, suddenly looking at him shocked but definitely picked with curiosity. You could make a joke of it all and just call him a pervert, but hadn’t you dreamt of that so many times you weren’t counting anymore?
“It’s alright,” he said, taking your wrists in his hands before getting closer to you again.
“Holland…” but you let him do it as he rested one of your hands on his side while the other kept going down.
“This ok?” he asked and you gulped while nodding, your heart beating a little too fast for your own good.
Your hand ended on his pants where you could definitely feel the bump there, your cheeks heating up instantly.
This was a miracle. You had dreamt of this for yourself but never thought it was possible.
“How?” You asked, curiosity taking over as you were finally able to look back at him.
“Lots of money, lots of pain, lots of surgeries, and many many hours out of this world passed out on the operation table.”
You hissed slightly at that, definitely unsure if you had the strength to go through it all. The surgery for your chest had been scary enough already.
“I can’t believe this is real,” you replied, out of a better thing to say.
“Hey,” he said softly and you let go of him entirely before looking at him when hands cradled your face again. “You’re not alone, alright?”
Of course he had to say that.
You found yourself unable to respond as immediate sobs formed in your throat.
Someone knew.
Someone knew and accepted you.
Someone knew and said they would be here now.
He hugged you again, chest against chest as your arms got around his back under his shirt, fingers taking the time to explore the skin. One of his hands was making soothing circles against your back while the other rested on your head.
When the tears stopped and your breathing got back to a normal pace he talked again.
“If you have questions, shoot.”
“I probably have a million, I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“It’s ok we’ve got time. You ok?”
“Definitely.”
He nodded at that before asking “What do you want to do?”
“I um…” you looked down, your cheeks heating up again. “I think I like kissing you.” You admitted.
“Yeah?” You nodded. “Well, we can do just that.”
And this time, your back against the wall next to the chest of drawers, you brought your hands up to his nape making him hunch so you could kiss him. His hands grabbed your hips, pulling you closer as his tongue grazed your lips and you gave him access. This was a feeling beyond this world.
One of your knees got a little higher, your leg bumping between his, a sharp breath escaping his lungs. He had to stop the kiss for a second, open mouth against yours.
“Sorry,” you apologized your thoughts all over the place, shadowed by the sound of your beating heart.
“Not a problem,” he replied, exhaling loudly before kissing your lips and moving to your cheek. He then got down to your neck leaving quick and tickling kisses against your skin until he reached your collarbone.
“So soft,” he whispered, his breath gently falling on your skin as your hands ruffled his hair as he bent down to kiss your scars. Gentle where the pain felt like it was here to stay.
His fingertips grazed at your waistband but the pressure in his hair made him stop as he looked up. “Too much?”
You nodded, whispering another “sorry”, hiding your face in your elbow.
He instantly got up and removed your arm, gently forcing you to look at him.
“Kissing, uh?” he teased and you smiled shyly. “I’m good with that.”
But before his lips could touch yours you took all the courage left inside you to whisper “ass is ok too” praying he wouldn’t make a big deal out of it.
He didn’t.
Instead his hands passed your hips, almost touching but not entirely, your skin aching for the contact until fingertips found the small of your back. You shared a look before you tiptoed to kiss him, his hands sliding under the clothes meeting your bare ass.
You exhaled softly through your nose against his cheek.
Yep, ass definitely ok, you thought as you kissed him more deeply, hands on his cheeks, his own slightly squeezing your ass.
Your hips jerked forward—human reflexes—and March almost bit your tongue in the process.
Your lips swollen and your head dizzy, all connections weren’t made in your brain, and you couldn’t help but say “So it is working, uh? You’re a lucky guy.”
“Right now it does feel like I am, yeah.”
“You’re a fucking miracle,” and you opened your eyes just in time to see him flushed, lips swollen, hair tossled and his eyes widening, the blue almost gone from his eyes.
“I thought you wanted to kiss,” he replied, unable to register what you had just said to him.
“Doesn’t mean you don’t want more,” you replied leaving him dumbfounded. You were barely aware of what your brain was saying before you could filter it.
Your hand found its way down to his pants and between his legs, leaving his eyes only to look down.
One of his hands went up to your cheek and you closed your eyes and let him kiss you, opening your mouth when he moved his hips, your hand creating a friction against him.
“Does it hurt?” you couldn’t help but asked.
“It’s worth it.”
You immediately backed away, your hand still between his legs, but suddenly back on earth as his hands left your body entirely.
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what it means: it hurts but who cares if I can have it now?”
“But… I don’t want to hurt you.”
“And I don’t want to lie to you.”
You stayed quiet, searching for something in his eyes that you couldn’t find, not even sure what you were looking for. He was telling the truth. You just didn’t understand why.
You were about to remove your hand when he grabbed your wrist, leaving your hand exactly where it was.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, getting closer again.
“But—”
“Please.” His almost pleading tone made you weak on the knees, a puddle of feelings mixed at the bottom of your belly.
He then removed his shirt entirely and you got closer again. Your available hand found his ribs, your thumb on his scar again, looking up at him before he kissed you, gentle and quiet this time. A hand on the small of your back pressed gently responding to your own press on his bulge as he guided you slowly towards the bed.
He sat there and you couldn’t help but hesitate as you stood in front of him, arms alongside your body, unsure of what would happen next.
He took your hands in his then, thumbs stroking the skin on top. “You ok?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just thinking.”
“You tend to do that a lot.” How did he know you that well?
“And you not at all,” you half laughed before getting closer, your legs between his.
“You should stop though.”
“Like it’s that easy,” you replied, rolling your eyes.
“Have a drink with me?”
You hesitated, considering the option. Maybe it could help. But you already felt dizzy by everything that was happening, adding alcohol to it wasn’t the solution.
“I’d rather be sober, though.”
“Fair point.” He stayed quiet for a second, figuring out what to do or say next. “We can stop whenever you want.”
“Yeah?”
“’Course.”
You smiled shyly as you let go of his hands to grab his face and kiss him again, truly feeling it all, a shiver running down your spine when he grabbed your hips in return.
“Come here,” he whispered as he put his legs up on the bed, guiding you by the hips, never leaving your lips from his.
Your knees found the edge of the bed and you followed him as he lay down—not that gracefully, earning a chuckle from you—and both your hands ended up on the bed, on the sides of his face.
“Still good?” he asked when you took a slight break and you nodded.
“You?”
“Better than two hours ago when three guys thought I had looked at them funny.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, concerned.
“Let’s just kiss first.”
You bent your elbows to get closer and kiss him until your muscles couldn’t think for themselves and hold you, almost crashing on March’s chest.
“Sorry,” you whispered, your cheek against his collarbone, slightly out of breath.
“’s okay, we can kiss like this too.”
You looked up for a second before kissing his cheek and leaving sloppy kisses against his neck like some needy teenagers in high school corridors.
Which in a way you did feel like.
All worth it when you were rewarded by a long content sight from the other man.
You slightly got up, your hips now definitely against his as he sat on his elbow, the distance between your chest almost unbearable.
You took a good look at him before leaving kisses down his collarbone, his chest and his scars, just like he did with yours a few minutes ago.
A hand on your cheek brought you back to his lips and you shifted a little, now one leg between his, your knee slightly applying pressure where it was the most sensitive. If it weren’t for you two kissing, you were sure Holland would have hissed but he bit your lips instead and you slid your tongue against his teeth before meeting his in a content sigh.
Your hand slowly travelled down his chest as his hips slightly jerked against your knee, stopping your heart for a second.
Just like before you rested your hand there against his pants, letting the feeling sink in as you moved your body slowly to the side, Holland following you all the way.
It now made it easier to start stroking and he had to stop the kiss for a second to breathe.
“Okay?” you asked out of breath, your eyes still closed.
“Uh-huh,” he hummed in response. You wanted to ask if he had done this before, whether alone or with someone else but the question couldn’t find its way to your mouth as one of Holland’s hands found your ribs, back and ass again, making you jerk your hips towards him.
You wanted to be closer.
You didn’t even know your body could want that. Desire that.
“March?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I remove your pants?”
“Yeah sure.” He replied, panting as loud as you as you watched him lie down on his back again through half-lided eyes. Lips swollen and probably as shiny as his were.
“Need help?” he asked, his hands already going down before you responded.
“I got it,” you replied, straddling his legs again.
As you unbuckled the belt, you looked at him before leaving a kiss just above his pants, leaving him with nothing but the ability to clench the sheet with one hand while he used his other arm to hide his face.
“Felt good, uh?” you teased, not recognising yourself but proud you got that out of him. You did this.
“Just shut up and do it again, please.”
You didn’t reply as you slid the pants down and kissed just under the belly button when he lifted his hips to remove the pants.
You made a little trail of kisses right above the waistband of his underwear, relishing in the reaction it got you from him, especially that little whimper towards the end which made you feel good in places you didn’t think you ever would.
You kissed him still, now back on your side as he shook his legs freeing himself of the pants entirely while you went up until kissing his jaw, your hand going up his chest then down, fingertips hesitating at the waistband. It took everything in March to not grab your hand and make it go down.
“As much as I desperately want this," he started, definitely out of breath and you kissed him before he could continue “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I want to make you feel good,” you whispered, kissing his cheek.
“Oh God,” he whispered out of breath, his elbow hiding his face again.
“Oh fuck—” he whispered, when your hand slid under the waistband to meet him.
It’s not like you had any comparison but it wasn’t feeling as weird as you thought it would, it was mostly warm, almost comfortable and you almost forget it all when knuckles grazed your cheek and then March is kissing you again, his tongue meeting yours in an instant, your hips coming forward as pleasure floods through your body.
You had experienced this proximity and intimacy before, sure, but never since the surgery and definitely not when the other one knew you were a man.
Your hand left to go up his chest, earning you a sweet whine from the man in front of you, quickly changed into a moan when your knee replaced your hand, adding more force to it.
You strengthened your grip on his hip as your knee struck him, leaving him breathless against your skin.
His hand traveled up to your hair, gently ruffling it in sync with the jerk of his hips against your knee.
You let him do it, appreciating the friction slowly going up your leg while you kept kissing him, hungry of his lips.
It was your time to let out a moan, making you both pause for a second, you definitely surprised, him looking at you, sudden worry visible on his face.
“Too much?” And you could kiss him again right here and now but you replied first.
“’m good, I’m good,” a little dizzy suddenly. Maybe it was too much. But honestly you didn’t care. It felt good and that’s all that mattered. “Just intense,” you reassured him.
“You’re doing good,” he said and you couldn’t reply, fully flustered, which earned a smirk you immediately kissed off his face.
His hands found your hips and guided you on top of him and you let him do it, chest against each other’s as his bulge hit just in the right place.
“Oh God,” you whispered, your head against the pillow, breathless next to him.
“We can make each other feel good. Not just me,” he whispered before kissing you just under your ear and your hips jerked forward earning a sigh of pleasure from both of you.
His hands slowly slid down your back and found their place on your ass once again. Putting just the right amount of pressure as you grind against him.
You didn’t know how far you could or should go, you had never been that comfortable in your body before, even alone in your room, guilt was too strong to let you enjoy it all. But March… He made it look and feel so easy and sweet.
You moaned again, all filters and barriers completely crushed, just feelings and his hips met yours again, finding a pace.
“It’s alright, we can take our time,” another friction. “Or not,” he added through gritted teeth when you started to go faster.
You kissed his cheek and then his lips again, eyes closed and one last slow grind was all it took for you to stop breathing for a second, forgetting everything that you knew.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you said, voice muffled in the pillow.
“It’s alright, it’s alright. You okay?”
“Yes. Yes I’m ok thank you,” you smiled, your heavy breath still on his neck.
Though completely exhausted, you grind slowly again.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his bandage hand out of your pants to prop himself up a little.
“Well you haven’t…” you didn’t finish, looking down between your bodies.
“It’s alright I can finish it.” And he caressed your flushed cheek with the back of his hand.
“Do you want me to go?”
“I think we’re way past that now,” and you hid your flustered face again.
He laid down again and started going down with his hand but before he could reach it, your hand got there first, sliding under his. He looked at you with a raised eyebrow.
“Guide me?”
“You’re gonna kill me,” he said, laying his head flat and closing his eyes but guiding your hand towards his pants.
Fingers almost intertwined, you felt both the warmth of his body and the one of his hand and you looked up from where your hands were hidden to watch the pleasure on his contorted face. The sight was unbelievable and brought warmth to the pit of your stomach again.
This is insane, you thought before being interrupted by March’s hitched breathing.
You kissed his cheek and then his neck letting his brain guide your hand, putting the pressure he wants there.
You kissed the moan out of his mouth as he applied pressure on your ass with the hand that stayed there.
You let your tongues meet again as he goes a little faster, breathing each other’s almost absent air.
It didn’t take much longer for him to reach the climax, his back slightly arching.
“Sorry about your hand,” he whispered a second later, between two breaths, squeezing it gently, but not opening his eyes.
You didn’t respond, immediately looking at your sticky hand for a second before getting up and going to wash it.
Once in the bathroom, you slowly raised your hand to your face, but one look in the mirror and you washed it almost angrily, though it wasn’t as disgusting as you thought it would be, far less than when you had to wipe yourself after it all. You always hated that slick. You then sat on the toilet, peed and hoped it would all go out by itself—even though you knew it wouldn’t.
You might have stayed on the toilet a little too long though because before you could question it, there was a knock on the door.
“You alright in there?”
“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, “Yeah!” you repeated a little louder.
You wiped everything away, tensing, completely disgusted before washing your hands again and going out.
You were a little surprised when Holland just stood there, cigarette in his mouth, his shirt back on his shoulders but wide open, his arm lifted above his head on the doorframe.
He didn’t move even though your nose almost touched his chest.
“Not too much?” he asked concerned, eyeing briefly behind you, looking for something out of the ordinary.
You shook your head “Just new.”
He nodded. “You working later?” he asked, taking a drag out of the cigarette, before finally standing straight.
“No, not today.”
“Want to stay here for the night?”
He asked it casually, almost shrugging and it took you a second because it wasn’t the first time you would be sleeping at the March’s household, your instinct had often told you to stay just to see if March would make it to the morning. Also their house was closer to the motel anyway. But it was the first time he had asked.
“Yeah sure,” you tried casual too but were miserably failing and took the opportunity to take your t-shirt back and put it over your head. Shame was slowly taking over.
You stayed quiet, suddenly uncomfortable in the silence surrounding you two, your head spiralling about what just happened and what it meant, would it happen again, what if it leads to something you don’t want and have to say it and then can never see him again. Now that you knew, you couldn’t lose him, he was the only trans person you knew, this was too important to fuck up. And what now? Do you sleep in the same bed, is it ok to snuggle, should you go on the couch, should you—
“You coming?” he asked, stopping your thoughts when he came into your space to put his cigarette out, just behind you.
You grabbed the sides of his shirt, suddenly shy, as if what happened—letting your soul bare in front of him—hadn’t happened.
You nodded, relief flowing through you, when he took your wrist with his bandaged hand to guide you to the bed again.
You both laid down, your heart beating slightly too fast in expectations of what would happen next. Surely you wouldn’t be able to sleep.
“First time?” You looked at him and nodded again, still unable to speak. “Come here,” he added, opening his arms and you didn’t hesitate when you put your arm around his stomach and your head on his shoulder, inhaling the comfortable smell of cigarette, breathing in sync with the rise of his belly.
Your hand traced absent-mindedly patterns on his chest, coming close to the scars once in a while as his own hands slowly caressed your back, over your t-shirt.
This felt nice too.
And it didn’t take long for you to doze off, right after feeling a kiss on your forehead.
Of course you woke up before him. So after looking at his peaceful face for a minute, you made coffee like you often did when you stayed. You had just sat on the couch with your cup when Holly came down from her room.
“Did Dad pass out again yesterday?”
“Something like that I guess,” you replied without looking at her. Pretending this was just another day where you had slept on the couch.
She rolled her eyes but still smiled and made herself breakfast.
“You’re not working?” She asked.
“Not today no.”
“Cool.” She made a pause, smelling the milk before pouring it in a bowl. “You stayin’?”
“What?” Holly was perceptive, you knew that. So did that mean she knew already? Did she even hear? A sudden dread filled you and you hid your suspicious and guilty face in your coffee.
“You’ll be here when I come back?” She clarified.
“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “If your dad needs me.”
“He always needs you.”
“What?” you exclaimed a little louder this time, turning a little too fast towards her.
“Come on, you really think I need a baby-sitter?”
“Right.” And you couldn’t help the blush on your cheek which you tried to hide in your cup.
“He likes your company.”
“How do you know?”
“He’s my dad. I know.”
“Fair point.”
She stayed quiet for a while, absorbing her breakfast in a way that surely hurt her stomach before she almost screamed, “See you later then!” making you spit a bit of your coffee back in your cup.
“See ya,” you replied but the door was already closed.
That’s when you heard a groan and Holland got out of the room, stretching his back, still in his opened shirt and his shorts—which he changed—, and that’s all it took for you to blush again.
“Was that Holly?”
“Yup.”
“So damn loud all the time this kid.” Just like her father you thought. “Slept well?”
“Yes, just not enough.”
“Oh my god, did I snore?”
“No, not at all,” you reassured and he sighed out of relief, putting a cigarette out. “Just um, thinking.”
“No regrets I hope,” worry waking him up suddenly, cigarette in his mouth as he was about to light it up, stopping his arm halfway through the motion.
“God no, yesterday was... perfect. Just a lot, I guess.”
“Not too much?”
“Who are you and what have you done with Holland March?”
“Haha, very funny,” and you chuckled, relieved, while he took a drag. “Just concerned, first times can be a lot.”
“Was it for you?” you asked, curiosity taking over and he sat next to you.
“Yes,” he replied, smelling in your cup and taking a sip when he made sure it was coffee. “You always make such good coffee,” he almost whispered while closing his eyes and it made your heart jump. His hand stayed on the one holding your cup.
You were still looking at him when he opened his eyes and you couldn’t help the look at his lips which turned into a smirk before you could meet his blue eyes again.
“Go ahead then,” he whispered and you just kissed him, fully feeling his lips on yours, sweet, a little dry and with the taste of coffee and cigarette. His hand guided yours to set the cup on the table. “You’re a really good kisser.”
“Holland March, are you flirting with me?” you laughed and he stretched, his back fully against the couch.
“Is that a sin?” He asked with one eye open, looking at you.
“For some.” You couldn’t help but get serious again.
“Not for us I hope.”
“Guess we’ll see when we’ll die.”
“Good thing I can’t die then,” and then he dared to wink at you.
And you just rolled your eyes, but glad you hadn’t made this weird.
Can I have Lars, Driver, Colt and Ryland (and anyone else you wanna add, really) with an FtM! Reader? I have been looking for writers who have requests open for this, bc I haven't found any fics for FtM ppl yet :') if not it's ok, thank you for your time and have a good day!
ftm!reader... you are my people. i absolutely struggled with this for some reason, i feel lame. i think i am just going to sit down and write general relationship headcanons for all of these characters because that's where i kept accidently going with this.
tags: talk of sex in holland's (in the last bullet point), implications of suicide/self harm in henry's, referenced transphobia, mention of taking hormones, mentions of bianca in lars', me projecting
being the gooselings' trans boyfriend...
featuring: driver, lars, holland, colt, ryland, henry
Driver
☆ dare i say this is absolutely a t4t relationship.
☆ he really likes to see you in his jacket. it's something that's very important to him, and he knows it makes him feel masculine, so he wants to extend that to you as well.
you can't wear his jacket in public though. he gets really worried about someone seeing it on you and recognizing it. he would never forgive himself if a disgruntled criminal came after you just because they saw you in his jacket.
he will gladly let you borrow other clothing of his to go out in, though.
☆ he teaches you things a lot of things about cars. even if you have a pretty good knowledge on cars, he's always got something else that he can teach you.
he'll tell you about a repair that a car needs done when you're in the shop, and he'll have you try it while explaining it all step-by-step if you need. he will absolutely never admit that he just enjoys admiring you while you do the one thing he does best. just ignore the dopey smile he has on his face.
☆ driver never talks explicitly about your relationship in public, so he's convinced that shannon thinks you two are just a good pair of buddies. shannon, however, is absolutely not fooled and knows exactly what the look in driver's eyes is whenever you get mentioned.
Lars
☆ the concept of transgenderism is genuinely very foreign to lars. he's lived in the same small church town his entire life, and the most non-traditional things he's seen have come from what kurt shows him on the computer.
it's fair to say that he's a little bit confused when you tell him that you're trans. you'll have to teach him quite a lot, and he'll ask questions when he gets curious about certain things.
☆ surprisingly, a lot of the people in town are very accepting of you. they see how happy lars in with you, and they don't question it much outside of that.
☆ it'll take lars some time to get used to everything. the relationship you two have is different from the one he had with bianca, and he's still figuring things out. he's trying very hard to relearn how to be a boyfriend after bianca, so be patient with him.
☆ he teaches you how to chop wood. it's his coping mechanism, and it makes him feel strong, so he wants to give those same feelings to you. (it's alright if manual labor maybe isn't necessarily your first choice of activity, though.)
☆ keeps a picture of you and him in his wallet. he loves being able to take it out and look at you guys together whenever he needs it. it brings him a lot of comfort.
Holland
☆ this man is absolutely not a stranger to gay feelings. holland is the most bisexual person anyone has ever laid their eyes upon. you're just the first guy that holland has ever actually dated before.
☆ he constantly hints toward him wanting you to borrow his clothing, and he is a big fan of seeing you in his suits. he purposely started purchasing duplicate versions of his suits and hawaiian shirts so that he can have a set and you can have a set.
☆ dating holland means that you also get healy as a friend (your guys' third) and you better believe that they are both ridiculously protective of you. someone dares to say something to you? well now they have both holland and healy on their ass.
with this, holly is a big fan of yours as well. she's always despised when her dad would flirt with woman, because to her it felt like he was trying to replace her mom, but with you it's different. you being a man definitely factors in to this, but holly can see how her dad loves you differently than he loved his late wife.
☆ he wants you to peg him so badly that you almost can't believe he's being serious about it.
if you are sex-aversed at all, or asexual altogether, he'll be whiny at the idea of no sex but he will absolutely not pressure you into anything you don't want to do.
Colt
☆ colt is definitely a "dress how you want because i can fight" type of guy. this applies to more than just clothing as well.
you get misgendered by someone? well, don't worry, because colt will relentlessly (and aggressively if need be) correct the person. you want to present yourself in a way that isn't necessarily traditionally masculine? guess what, colt won't let anybody say anything derogatory about it.
he likes to post pictures with you on his social media, and being a person with any sort of fame at all, that means that there will occasionally be hate comments. he removes those types of comments so fast that it's almost like they were never up in the first place.
☆ he loves bring you onto set and to wrap parties and very enthusiastically introducing you to everyone. everyone in his life is well-aware of his boyfriend that he quite literally cannot stop talking about, and most of them are happy to finally meet you.
☆ he has a shirt that says "i love my hot trans boyfriend" on it in bold text and he wears it all of the time. he had tried to find this kind of shirt in a spencers or something, and when he couldn't get the right thing, he custom ordered one.
☆ he play-wrestles with you until it turns into either him wrapping his arms around you really tight and forcing you to lay with him or you two manhandling each other into something a little more intimate.
Ryland
☆ he wants to help you with your hormones, if you take them, because he thinks it's very interesting. he's a biologist, sue him for wanting to see the physical process of your body chemistry literally changing.
☆ if you bind, then he is constantly reminding you to maintain good binder practices. if you have top surgery, he likes to run his fingers along your scars if you let him.
☆ he has a picture of you on his desk that he talks to sometimes when he thinks nobody is listening. his students ask him about you all the time, and he has to physically prevent himself from breaking out into a speech whenever you get brought up.
before he started openly talking about you, however, there was a lot of speculation amongst his students about his sexuality. most said that he had that "gay history teacher" vibe, and definitely dressed the part, while others said that he would probably fit the stereotype of that kind of teacher and end up having a wife and kids. all it takes is one of his favorites asking if he's married and suddenly ryland is rambling about his boyfriend.
☆ he gets incredibly defensive over you and has verbally berated someone after they spoke in a certain way about you. he absolutely does not play about making sure that you are as comfortable in your own skin as possible, and that means not letting you experience any transphobic bullshit.
Henry
☆ he starts seeing you after athena died. it began as something to dull the pain, to distract from the ache that felt neverending, and you both knew it. after a while, however, he saw you as something more than just a way to fill the void. before he knew it, he had something to live for and he could no longer deny that he was falling for you.
☆ there's a lot of conflict in henry's mind between treating you gently and making sure you know that he sees you as masculine. he sees himself as broken, and he views you as something he needs to handle frailly. it has nothing to do with who you are, and everything to do with the fact that you are the most important thing in the world to him.
☆ he has a really hard time falling asleep unless you're in the bed with him. he really loves when you wrap your arms around him and hold him tightly, it makes him feel safe.
☆ if you have top surgery, he likes to kiss against your scars. he has plenty of scars himself, but seeing them on you makes him see the marks in a different kind of light. it takes a while, but now he sees his scars not as a symptom of sadness but as a symbol of how much he has grown.
Didn't even think about trans holland march a month ago - hell, even two weeks ago -- and here i am 1,7k into writing the most self healing fanfic i've ever written, with trans holland march and trans male reader just to heal my soul.
This fic will probably and most definitely be out of character.
This fic will probably and most definitely take a cringe turn.
But eh, what if it helps someone just like it's helping me right now?
(i love fanfiction, man)
(and if i think about taking T right now, he is definitely part of the thought process because if i ever start T one day i know i'd want his moustache)
I've written until 1 a.m. and almost fell alseep on my phone (never happened once in my thirty years of existence on this earth). Got up at 5:40 because I had a train to catch. Wrote in said train from 6:10 to 7:40.
And it's not even finished because yup I'm definitely stalling and I can't believe I'm writing smut out of everything I could be writing and in a public place? Maybe I've gonne insane because I'm so sleep deprived, guess we'll never know.
Also my phone says my note is too long and I can't put italics in my text anymore.
(thank the lord i have those screens were people next to hme can't see what i'm up to)
Didn't even think about trans holland march a month ago - hell, even two weeks ago -- and here i am 1,7k into writing the most self healing fanfic i've ever written, with trans holland march and trans male reader just to heal my soul.
This fic will probably and most definitely be out of character.
This fic will probably and most definitely take a cringe turn.
But eh, what if it helps someone just like it's helping me right now?
(i love fanfiction, man)
(and if i think about taking T right now, he is definitely part of the thought process because if i ever start T one day i know i'd want his moustache)
Ryland Grace comforting a kid who is afraid of thunder.
----
Even though I'm writing on the board about photosynthesis and my back is facing them I can feel no one is listening.
There's a little chatter that can be heard over the downpour outside.
The rain. It always has this weird exciting effect on kids.
I'm about to get their attention back when a sudden bolt of lightning crosses the sky and I know I'm doomed.
Photosynthesis will have to wait.
Most of the kids rush to the windows while the sound finally reach our ears, long after the light reached our eyes.
The storm is far.
Oh! This is it!
"Does someone want to know something cool about thunder?" This gets their attention. They're not going back to their seats but at least they're looking my way. "Can someone tell me why we can see the lightning strike but not hear its sound at the same time?"
Someone raises their hand and I point at them: "It comes from the same thing?"
Oh boy. We have to start from the beginning.
"Excellent question!" I say and erase the board to start the explanations. I hear some chairs scrapping the floor in my back.
"Even though these are different, there is no thunder—the sound—without lightning—the light. And vice versa." I write the two words separately on the board, the first with a music note underneath and the second with a bolt. "The sound happens because the lightning happened." I look at them. "What happens in the sky is this: There are huge clouds that are called cumulonimbus, maybe some of you heard of this? On the weather forecast?" Some kids nod. "Wait a minute," I say while holding a finger up. I go to the computer and find an image of said clouds to show on the board. "Those big ones," I point with the dry erasable marker . "Those are cumulonimbus." I let them look at it for a second. "And those are soooo big that they have both very warm and moist air, called updrafts," I put a hand up, "and very cold air called downdrafts, because they push the cold and the rain down." I put the other hand down. "And when those two meet," I slowly bring my hands back together and slap them when they meet, I can see some kids jumping in their seat when the light from outside strikes at the same time. Science.
We let the sound reach us.
"So that's for the sound. As you can hear, there is a loud crack first, that's when the two collide, and then the rumble is what we call a shockwave. Just like when you throw a rock in a pond, they are little ripples on the water after the big splosh. In a storm, we hear it instead of seeing it on the water. And there is so much power and energy when the cold and the warm meet that it creates the light we see."
One of the kids raises her hand.
"Yes?"
"Is it the same as when I see electricity when I put on my clothes sometimes?"
"Yes! Although it is not as strong, it is. It's actually called static electricity. And this one is caused by friction. Electricity can be created with a few different things, but always with energy. And, usually when static electricity happens, you can hear the sound with it, it's a little crackle."
She nods, along with some other.
"Ok, so now that we know this, I'll ask again: why do we see the bolt of lightning before we hear it?"
No ones raises their hands, and now I feel like I'm the worst teacher in the world. "Come on guys, we talked about the speed of sound last week, remember? When that fighter plane passed by the window?"
A few hesitant hands rise.
"Yes?"
"Is it because it travels fast?"
I nod before I ask with another question: "Which one?"
But no one understands.
"Which of the light or the sound travels faster?"
Now more than half of the hands are raised and it's almost a relief. I'm not talking all day for nothing.
"The light!" One replies after I let him speak. "We see the light of the strike before we hear it, so light travels faster.
"Yes!" I exclaim with a smile, interrupted by another bolt. The room grows quiet until we hear it.
"Does that mean it's close, Mister Grace?"
"Well, that's another cool thing about thunder, we can calculate how far it is."
I hear some sighs, because yes, of course, math is involved, and no, math isn't 'cool' for them, but every pair of eyes is back on the board as I turn around.
"When we see the light of the storm all we have to do is count the seconds until we hear the sound. And then it's just a little simple calculation where five seconds," I start writing on the board, "roughly equals one mile."
Just when I finish another light strikes and I hold my fingers up for every second that passes, silently counting until the sound crashes. Fifteen seconds. It's getting closer.
"So, who can tell me how far this storm is?"
"Three miles!" Some of them exclaim.
"Perfect! You guys were lucky it was a multiple of five." They go silent again. "Anyway, now you can watch." I say when everyone's attention is back on the windows. As long as the storm is here they'll count every time, now. But at least they learn something from it.
All the kids go except one.
I go closer to him.
"You don't want to see the storm?"
He looks briefly at me before resting his chin back on his hands which are flat on his desk.
"I'm scared," he whispers.
"You're safe in the classroom, it can't hurt you from here."
He looks at me again while I smile reassuringly, but he flinches as soon as the light strikes again and he closes his eyes in a way it probably hurts him.
I look at the other kids their nose almost to the window, and I can hear them counting. I know it's not really safe but for now it's still far, and there is nothing else I can do to get their attention back.
When the sound hits our ears, the kid in front of me has his hands on his ears while others exclaim how far it is.
When it's over I gently rest my hand on the kid's wrist to let him know, and he just opens his right eye before removing his hands and opens his other eye.
"You know, when I was little, I was also scared of the lightning?"
"Really?"
"Yes, just like you."
"And... you're not scared anymore?"
"Nope."
"How?"
"There's a little trick," I say, my voice a little quieter, like I'm about to tell him a secret. "My brother taught me this. He was afraid of bees and one day I see him, sitting on his heels in the garden, just watching the bee, observing it. And then he wasn't afraid anymore."
"Just... Just like that?"
"Yes I tried too. Once, I was too scared about the thunderstorm to sleep and so for one second of courage I stood up and made my way to the window and just watched it."
"And you weren't afraid anymore?"
"Well, it was a little hard at night still, but after some time it got easier. I was pretending that someone was taking pictures outside my window, it made it easier."
"But what about the sound, this is what's scary."
"Ah. Unfortunately I don't have the answer, I still jump sometimes when I hear it." I laugh a little awkwardly. "Maybe you can pretend that someone is clapping because the picture is beautiful." He does this face where he totally doesn't believe me. Fair point, I wouldn't believe it either. "Yeah, I know, bad example. Most of the time, I was counting, just like we did, just like your classmates are doing. And it made it cooler. It felt like a game to me. Still does."
"That sounds cool."
"It is! You want to try it with the next one?" I ask, afraid it might be a little too early.
He nods nonetheless and I stand up offering him my hand so we can walk to the window.
He takes it and squeezes it when the light strikes, but looking at him I can feel he is counting.
When the sounds reaches our ears, he says how far the storm is at the same time as his classmates. But he holds my hand until the class is over.
"Mister Grace? Can we go outside so we can be closer?"
"Well, as much as I would like to say yes, first of all it's raining and your parents would hate me if I let you out under this, and it's without mentioning how sick you would be. Second of all, standing outside under a thunderstorm is reaaaaally not safe."
"Could we die?" Someone asks and the one holding my hand squeezes it and his eyes are frightened when I look at him.
"Well the zero risk doesn't exist," everyone gaps. I know I can't lie but maybe I should learn to. Sometimes I end up scaring them more than I should. Science. "But," I say a little louder to stop the chatter, "It's only rare because people don't go out during storms and, the human body is incredible for this, we are conductors of electricity. So as long as your feet are on the ground, the electricity of the bolt will go right through you and onto the ground." They all stare at me quietly. "That doesn't mean you should go out during a storm, understand me?"
Everyone nods.
Thankfully the bell rings a few minutes later and the storm hasn't ruin the whole hour.
And I already know what I'm going to talk about in the next class.
-----
And at the next storm, which happens at night, Grace thinks about that kid and he is a little worried.
His worries are confirmed because the kid obviously hasn't slept at all, but when he asks him in private, the kid smiles and says "I watch the thunderstorm all night!" and Grace can't find it in himself to blame him. He had done the same more than once.
Ryland Grace stopping a fight in the corridors because he just forgot something.
Doesn't like conflict, usually flies the other way, but for the kids he'd do anything.
----
I was about to hop on my bike when I realised that I had forgotten my helmet in class. Right on the desk. It's not the first time.
I go back in as kids go out, but stop when I see a little gathering.
That doesn't look good.
I'm not one to get into fights and arguments—not anymore—, I usually tend to fly the other way or avoid the conversation altogether, but when kids are involved I can't just turn away. And usually it's quite solvable with an adult outlook on things. Usually.
There are six kids around another one who's sitting on the floor and it's clearly not a good time for her.
I just hate bullying. I don't understand it. And I hate when I don't understand. I need to know.
Blame my insatiable curiosity, I guess.
"Wow, what's going on over there?" I ask, dropping my bag on the floor when voices go a little louder, harsher. They all go quiet as I look at each and every one of them.
Until one with arms crossed just looks at me: "She won't kiss Alan."
I'm a little dumbfounded for a second before I reply: "Well, you can't force people to kiss, that's not fair."
"But they're in love," says another one. "People in love, they should kiss."
"How do you know they're in love? Have you asked them?" I say, keeping my voice as gentle as possible.
I look briefly at the girl sitting on the floor with her knees close to her chest. Her eyes are a little puffy. It's almost hard not to get mad on her behalf.
"They're always together."
"And?" I can't help but ask, just to see if that will help make them change their trail of thoughts.
"Two people who are always together are in love."
"Not necessarily." Everyone goes quiet, six pairs of eyes looking at me, not understanding, question looks on their faces as if I had just told them about the theory of relativity for the first time. "For example, you two are always together too," I say looking at the two girls I always see together, like they're attached to the hip or something. "But are you in love?"
"Eww no, she's my best friend that's all."
"Well, that's a form of love actually. Friendship. A love that you both share. And yet no one wants you two to kiss."
"No..." They say together at the same time, their voice a little quieter.
"Me for example," I know kids love and relate more when you give them personal stuff or little anecdotes. They need concrete examples. "I have friends that I love, but I won't kiss them because I'm not romantically in love."
"With anyone?" Suddenly says another kid who hasn't spoken yet.
Oops, that got a little too far. Maybe I should just go now. Personal stuff isn't always the right thing to say actually. Especially with kids. I should know it by now.
"No, not at the moment. Aaand I think we should go now or you'll miss the next class and—"
"The day is over Mr. Grace."
I want to slap myself on the forehead. Stupid.
"Well, yeah, right. You should go home then, and stop bothering your classmates." I reply dismissing them with a wave of hands and a—probably—awkward smile. A sigh of relief escapes my lips when everyone starts to leave.
I am about to do the same, completely forgetting my helmet in the process, but as soon as I turn around, a quiet, almost afraid voice stops me.
"Mr. Grace?" The little girl hasn't moved and I hold back a sigh before turning around. This wasn't supposed to be a long day. And also I'm stupid for not having checked on her before. "Do you think you'll ever fall in love?"
She then gets up and removes the invisible dust on her knees, her eyes avoidant.
Guess we're going to have that conversation then. But maybe I can stall, pretend, I don't know, anything?
"I am in love, I love my friends and my brothers, even my coworkers even though it's just work, I—"
"I meant romantically."
"Of course you did," I nod and crouch down to be at her height. "I mean, I don't know, I've never been in love so who knows if I will in the future. I'm not interested in the whole thing now, but anything can happen, right?"
"But... what if someone falls in love with you?"
"Well, we'll have a slight embarrassing conversation if I don't love them back."
"And if I don't want to have that conversation?"
Oh. So this is what it is about.
"And why wouldn't you? Because it would make you uncomfortable, or nervous?"
"No, I... What if they think I'm weird?"
"Well, love is a complicated thing, especially romantic love, and you can't fall in love with everybody, that would be the weird thing."
"What if I don't want to ever fall in love?"
"That's totally ok, no one is going to force you."
A silence.
"Would you come with me?" she asks.
"Where?"
"To tell them that I don't love them."
"Are you sure?"
She nods, "I think it would help."
"I guess I can be here, yes."
"And you explain things very well, you always do."
Kids I swear. Always complimenting you out of the blue just like that.
"Thank you. Are you going to be ok?" I ask with a hand on her shoulder.
She nods fiercely, "Thank you Mister Grace. See you tomorrow," she says as she walks away with a wave of the hand and a smile on her face.
It's only when I go back to my bike, that I realise I still don't have my helmet.
-----
That night Ryland Grace discovers the definition of aromanticism. And he spends the night staring at the ceiling because of everything that it implies. Because everything seems to finally make sense now.
And the day after that, while sleep deprived, he has to talk to the kid because he didn't understand that he wouldn't be just standing here for support, she actually wanted him to be here so he would talk to the other kid for her.
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
stormborns
yousharknotpass
gracieabrams
vaporwave
jimmyeatworldofficial
